


yes, know that it’s true, i would take the fall for you

by damipussycomplex



Category: Batman - All Media Types, DCU
Genre: (but not sexually), Alfred Pennyworth is the Best, Alpha Dick Grayson, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Claustrophobia, Courtship, Damian is also a cutie pie, Dick has also had an epiphany that Jason blushing is one of the cutest things he’s ever seen, Dick just misses his little wing and wants him to come back and join the family pack, Domestic Fluff, Equally Stubborn Dick Grayson, Explosions, Jason Todd: now comes with side effects fresh from the Lazarus Pit, M/M, Non-Consensual Touching, Omega Jason Todd, Stubborn Jason Todd, Wooing, and takes shit from a grand total of nobody, bc dick just wants to show jason affection but he can be a little too much sometimes, being good with kids + sweet treats + Alfred: the way to Jason’s heart, maybe they’re starting to become less oblivious, so resolves to make it happen as much as he can, the rest of the batfam find this sweet but also very amusing (especially Tim and Damian)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-12
Updated: 2020-09-01
Packaged: 2021-03-02 23:28:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 14,907
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24145132
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/damipussycomplex/pseuds/damipussycomplex
Summary: It’s a cold, dreary February night in Gotham when Dick Grayson unintentionally decides to court his not so dead not-brother.
Relationships: Dick Grayson & Alfred Pennyworth & Jason Todd, Dick Grayson & Damian Wayne, Dick Grayson/Jason Todd, Tim Drake & Dick Grayson
Comments: 87
Kudos: 637





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> this has been in my notes app for AGES so i’m really happy to finally be getting it out today. updates may not be regular, so just hold on tight and enjoy the ride!!

It’s a cold, dreary February night in Gotham when Dick Grayson unintentionally decides to court his not so dead not-brother. 

He drops down into an tight alcove to escape the heavy rain and settles on the narrow ledge beside Jason, bringing his knees up to his chest and wrapping his arms around his legs after gently placing a plastic bag between them. 

Dick raps his knuckles against the side of Jason’s helmet twice before bumping their ankles together. “Knock knock, little brother,” he says, smiling softly as he pushes the bag closer to Jason. 

Jason’s fingers tighten around the edge of the ledge, one hand holding onto it for stability as he presses the other into his stomach, putting pressure on a knife wound he seems to think Dick hasn’t noticed. Dick bets that if Jason had either of his hands free, he’d be getting a brutal punch to the arm right about now, or maybe even to his face. 

“The fuck do you want, Nightwing? Haven’t killed any scumbags in your territory for a while, so I don’t get what this little visit is for,” Jason grumbles, still turned away from him, shuffling away from the bag ever so slightly like he’s afraid it’ll explode. Dick’s chest tightens at the movement, and his heart hurts after seeing that his little wing doesn’t trust him. 

He lifts his hands up in surrender, trying to seem sincere. “Not here to yell at you, Hood.” Jason turns to look at him, and even though that stupid helmet is covering his face, Dick can tell he’s looking at him in disbelief. He’s probably raised an eyebrow too. 

“Is that so hard to believe?” Dick asks lightly, smile freezing on his face and then fading away when Jason doesn’t answer, just looks back out at the streets. 

“I brought you a present,” he says instead, desperate to change the subject. Dick hates it when Jason shuts down like this,  _hates_ it when he makes Jason feel like he can’t speak to him. 

He  _gets_ that he fucked up before Jason died, that he should’ve been there more, and even  _after_ Jason came back to them, Dick should’ve been a better big brother to him like he hopes he has been to Tim and Damian, but the past is in the past. Nothing can be done to change it. And besides, Dick isn’t looking to make amends. He wants to start completely afresh. 

Dick scents the air, can’t smell anything but cigarette smoke, gunpowder and the bitter tinge of scent neutralisers. Of course, Jason must be wearing a patch underneath his helmet. Dick doesn’t know why he was expecting anything else, considering the fact that he wears them himself.

He watches Jason for a moment, ready to fake a smile and tell him goodbye when Jason’s shoulders suddenly slump and his head tilts ever so slightly to glance at the bag resting next to his leg. 

“What’s in it?” Jason asks, still staring at it like it’s a ticking time bomb. 

“So paranoid. Anyone ever tell you that you’re just like B in that respect?” Dick teases, grinning as he nudges Jason’s knee with his hand. He realises that he shouldn’t have said that after Jason tenses up and makes to leave. 

Jeez, it’s like it’s one fuckup after another today. 

“It’s food,” Dick hurriedly continues, curling his fingers around Jason’s wrist to stop him. Jason’s chest expands as he takes in a deep breath before sitting back down, noticeably further away from Dick. Something cold settles in Dick’s heart, spreading through his chest. 

Dick lets go of Jason’s wrist and places his hands underneath his thighs, sitting on them so he doesn’t accidentally reach out for Jason again. “Brownies and doughnuts. You know who made them,” he murmurs, watching out of the corner of his eye as Jason picks up the bag and places it in his lap, fiddling with the knot on top. 

“You can eat them while I stitch up that nasty little gash of yours if you want,” Dick continues, allowing himself to smile when Jason suddenly turns to him in surprise, as though he thought he had any chance at hiding it from Dick. 

He’s silent for a moment before speaking again. “Al — A made them?” 

At Dick’s nod, Jason stops short, clearly questioning Dick’s motives for being here and casually offering him some dessert. Before Jason can ask why he’s here or what he’s doing, Dick speaks up. 

“The brownies were fresh from the oven at the start of patrol, so they might need a little warming. But I’ve tasted one and they’re nice and a little gooey in the middle. Just the way you like them,” he adds on, nervous that Jason will just fling the bag at his face and run away like he always seems to do these days. 

“Doughnuts have anything in them?” Jason asks, untying the knot on the bag and rooting through it until he pulls out a silver tiffin tin from it and cradles it between his thighs, fingers drumming against the lid. 

“Nope. They’re just glazed.” 

“Aw shucks, you did all this for little old me?” Jason says, and Dick is certain he’s smirking underneath his helmet, glee shining in his eyes. “You shouldn’t have, ‘Wing. I didn’t bring anything for you. Equal rights and all that jazz.”

“Doesn’t matter,” Dick responds, relieved that Jason has finally relaxed enough to have a little friendly banter with him. “You haven’t come to the manor in a while, so I thought I’d come see you. Alfie told me to bring this stuff.”

Jason’s fingers still on the tiffin tin for a few seconds before they start back up again, but slower this time. “You trying to sweeten me up or something?” Jason asks, chuckling, and it sounds strange coming through the mechanical filter of his helmet, but Dick’s just glad to hear it, to hear him be happy again. Jason deserves that, and so much more.

“Yep, you got me all figured out, little wing.” 

Dick blatantly ignores how Jason’s shoulders stiffen at that old nickname from another lifetime, as well as the way he barely flinches when Dick pats his chest. “My mom taught me that the quickest way to a man’s heart is through his stomach.”

Dick quickly moves his hand away when Jason starts to stare at it like he might break his fingers, swiftly followed by his face. He sits there, staring at the side of Jason’s helmet until Jason makes a strange sound which sounds a lot like a sigh and puts the tiffin tin back in the plastic bag, tying it off at the top. 

Dick swallows thickly, hoping with all his heart that he’s not about to be pushed away again, that Jason’s actually going to let him in for once. 

He’s pleasantly surprised when Jason turns to him, and doesn’t look like he’s going to have to be lovingly threatened or coerced into going with Dick to get all fixed up. “Well, we’re sure as hell not going to one of _my_ safe houses. And you can’t badger me about this or hover or follow me afterwards.”

If they are his only conditions, then Dick’s completely fine with it. Even though he wants to ensure that his little wing fully recovers. “That’s fine. That’s perfect, in fact. One of mine is nearby.”

Jason turns his head to stare at him, suspicious, and Dick can feel his eyes burning into his face, even through the helmet. Then Jason finally huffs and puts the bag to one side before putting all of his weight on the hand that’s got a death grip on the ledge. 

It’s then that Dick realises he’s trying to get up, so grabs the bag and stands up himself to quickly duck under Jason’s arm, setting a gentle hand on the curve of Jason’s waist to steady him as he gets to his feet. 

He then passes the bag back to Jason and moves his hand to Jason’s hip to push him backwards slightly as he readies his grapple gun, offering him a smile. “Here. You carry this, and I’ll carry you.”

Jason freezes in his arms, and Dick can feel the muscles in his back stiffening through his jacket as he stares at Dick. “What the fuck do you mean  _you’ll carry me? ”_

Dick clears his throat awkwardly, knowing that he has to word this properly so Jason doesn’t just get mad and push him right off the ledge before swinging off without patching himself up, and then passing out halfway through patrol. 

“Well,” he begins, hoping Jason lets him get through his mini speech before attacking him about how he’s perfectly capable of doing this alone, about how just because he’s an omega, that doesn’t mean he needs to be rescued by some knot-headed alpha. 

Dick  knows that very well. 

“You’re hurt, so I’m not letting you carry on patrolling without getting patched up. Also, I can’t carry you, you know, bridal style, so that’s out of the question.” 

Dick can feel Jason glaring at him as he moves backwards, and ignores him when he asks  _are you calling me fat?_

Instead, he continues. “I can’t throw you over my shoulder because of that little problem you have,” Dick says, pointing at his wound, then gives him a stern look, placing his hands on his hips. “And I am  _not_ agreeing to meet you at my safe house, which you don’t even know the location of, only to end up waiting for you to come for half an hour, while you’re being a stubborn brat and bleeding out in an alley.”

Dick pauses. “And no, I’m not calling you fat.” 

He pats Jason’s shoulder, hand lingering on his bicep, and quickly pulls it away when Jason turns his head to pointedly stare at his hand. “You’ve got a lot more muscle than me, and I’m not embarrassed to admit that I wouldn’t be able to carry you.”

For some reason, Dick’s eyes fall to the cargo pants stretching across the wide expanse of Jason’s thighs, and he finds himself thinking that  _yes_ , Jason  _does_ have a lot of muscle. 

He jumps a little when Jason clears his throat and looks up to see Jason crossing his arms over his chest, closing his mouth and swallowing thickly when Jason turns his head away and reveals a thin sliver of skin between his helmet and the collar of his jacket, and it’s light pink in colour. 

Is Jason...  _blushing?_

That’s _adorable_.  But besides the point. 

“Ugh,  _fine_.” Jason reluctantly moves closer, letting Dick hold him again. “But you better not start doing any flippy shit and end up dropping me.”

“I wouldn’t  _drop_ you,” Dick scoffs, slightly offended by the way Jason’s just called his best moves  _flippy shit_. “And even if I did, I’d catch you again straight away.” 

He shuts up as he looks for a good place to fire his grapple gun at, then glances back at Jason, a little scared of how he’ll respond to Dick’s question. “Don’t you trust me?”

Jason just stays silent, and that’s enough of an answer for Dick, even though Jason shuffles closer and leans into him. “What if you did drop me though?” Jason asks, completely ignoring Dick’s question and the awkward silence that came right after it. 

Dick sighs. “Then I guess you’d go  _splat_ on the sidewalk and Nightwing would have to religiously avoid the cops hunting him down for manslaughter.

“ _Fuck_ that. You make me go splat, my ghost will haunt your ass until you die too.” Jason pauses, tilting his head like he’s considering something, then laughs, and it still sounds so  _weird_. 

“The cops would probably  _thank_ you for killing me, not  _arrest_ you.”

“Nah, they love you for doing their jobs for them,” Dick replies, glad that Jason has finally changed the subject for him. “At least the ones that aren’t corrupt anyway.”

Jason snorts and presses Dick’s hand harder against his hip, draping one of his own arms around Dick’s shoulders, then sighs. “Come on, let’s go.”

Dick grins at him, then turns to face the streets in front of them. “Brace yourself and get ready to fly, little wing.”

Then he takes a step off the ledge, sending them both into free fall. They keep on falling until Jason starts to shout at him, the bag containing the tiffin tin almost getting ripped out of his hand as Dick finally fires his grapple gun and they soar through the air. 

“Not  _all_ of us want to feel the wind rushing through our hair before we turn into human fuckin’ pancakes!” Jason yells at Dick, his grip on Dick’s shoulder tightening until it’s almost painful. 

“Okay, jeez, we’re only a couple of blocks away,” Dick tries to placate him, blocking Jason out when he starts to mutter about how much of an idiot Dick is. 

They finally reach Dick’s safe house, and Jason is set down and propped up against the wall whilst Dick disables his security. As soon as Dick is done, Jason pushes open the door and stumbles in, leaving Dick to pick up the dropped bag and close and lock the door behind himself. 

When Dick walks into his room, he finds Jason slumped across the couch, fiddling with the back of his helmet before there’s a muffled hissing noise and he takes it off his head,clumsily setting it on the floor. 

Jason lifts his head up as Dick comes in, and he looks pale from blood loss, curly hair plastered to his forehead with sweat. Dick had almost forgotten about the knife wound, and quickly rushes to his bathroom to rummage through the cupboard underneath his sink and fish out his med kit. 

He races back and places a bowl filled with clean water on the table, and Jason looks up blearily when Dick starts to remove the top half of his suit to get clearer access to the gash on the side of his stomach. 

“What’re you doin’, Dick?” Jason slurs, and that’s definitely not a good sign. Dick needs to get him stitched up, and quick. “No, I can do it  _myself_ ,” Jason hisses when Dick dunks a clean cloth into the bowl of water and starts to gently wipe it around and over his wound. 

He curses under his breath as the needle sinks through his skin as Dick starts to stitch up his gash, and Dick finds himself instinctively squeezing Jason’s thigh. He’s not even surprised to discover that his hand doesn’t fit all the way around it. He’s pretty sure both of them wouldn’t either. 

It takes him a couple more minutes to stitch Jason up completely. By the time he’s done, Jason has gotten a little antsy, impatiently tapping his foot on the floor. He jumps up from the couch almost immediately, hurriedly pulling his clothes back on and stooping down to grab his helmet from the floor, then bumps into Dick when he straightens back up. 

“How many fingers am I holding up?” Dick blurts out stupidly. Jason stares at him in the same way he always does, the way that is clearly saying  _you’re an idiot_ , and blinks twice, real slow.

“Thirteen.”

Then he’s marching away towards the door, whipping out a gun from one of his thigh holsters and clicking the safety off after Dick dares to step in front of the door and grab him by the arm in an attempt to stop him. 

“Look, I just wanna make sure you’re okay before heading back out again. At least have a glass of water or a bite to eat or  _something_ ,” Dick begs, raising his hands in surrender when Jason takes a threatening step forwards with his gun still aimed at the space between Dick’s eyes. 

“I’m  _fine_ ,” Jason grits out, still as stubborn as ever. “I don’t need your help. Never have, never will.”

“Jay,” he whispers pleadingly, and Jason’s face  almost softens. Almost being the key word there. “ _Please_.”

Dick watches the gun shake in Jason’s hand for a few seconds, and then Jason takes a few clumsy steps back, pressing a hand to his forehead, looking a little faint as Dick rushes forward and gently pushes him back down onto the couch. 

Dick perches on the table in front of him and takes his gun to click the safety back on, watching carefully to make sure he doesn’t suddenly topple over or pass out. “ _Fine_ ,”  Jason snaps, seemingly fed up of Dick’s begging. “You’re such an asshole.”

“Actually, I go by Dick,” he quips, smiling when Jason groans and leans back, rolling his eyes. 

“Fucking dork,” Jason mumbles as he rubs at his eyes, and now that Dick looks at him —  _really_ looks at him, not just his very nice thighs — he realises that Jason’s  _exhausted_. There are dark circles around his eyes, and he’s paler than usual, not just because of the blood loss, but sleep deprivation too. 

“Jay?” Jason grunts at him, closing his eyes. “When’s the last time you slept? Like, for more than five minutes?”

“When I was still in my grave,” Jason retorts, and it would almost sound bitter if it weren’t for the fact that almost immediately after he says it, Jason’s mouth cracks open into a yawn, his eyes starting to water. 

Dick almost reaches out to pet his hair before remembering that he doesn’t want a hole in his hand, so forces himself to stand up and cross his arms. “If I run to my kitchen to grab you something to eat, will you still be here when I get back?”

“Maybe. Depends,” Jason says, shrugging. 

“On what?”

“If it’s good food, because I ain’t sticking around to eat  _shit_ if it’s  _your_ cooking,” Jason says, grimacing. “And how long it takes for you to come back.”

“Hey, fuck you,” Dick tries to defend himself as he walks away. “My cooking isn’t that bad. You just have overly sensitive taste buds.”

He hears Jason snort behind him. “Sure, Dickie. It’s not the fact that  _you_ can’t cook to save your  _life_ , it’s that  _I_ don’t have refined taste buds. I feel sorry for you, so I’ll let you think that.”

“Well, I’m not cooking for you anymore, so you’ll be missing out,” Dick calls from the kitchen, plucking out a bowl to fill up with cereal, then milk. 

“For your sake, so that you don’t look even more stupid than you already do, I’m not going to bother even dignifying that with a response,” Jason hollers over to him, and Dick wrestles down the urge to wring his neck, because as much as Dick loves him, as endearing as Jason can be at times, he is also  _very_ frustrating when he chooses to be. 

He almost puts it in the microwave to heat it before remembering that Jason likes his cereal with cold milk, and then he considers heating it anyway, just to spite Jason. 

In the end, he doesn’t heat the cereal, and carries the bowl back to Jason, placing it on the table in front of him, along with a spoon. 

Jason is lying down on his back on the couch when Dick comes in, and rolls over onto his side to see what Dick has brought for him. When he notices the bowl of cereal, he blinks twice and rubs his eyes, like he can’t believe what he’s seeing. 

Then he sits up, wincing as he does so, and glares across the room at Dick, who doesn’t understand why Jason looks so offended. “Are you being  _serious_ , man?  _Crocky Crunch?_ How the hell are you an adult?”

“I am  _older_ than you, you little shit,” Dick points out, poking Jason in the shoulder. “Eat the goddamn cereal and stop being ungrateful.”

Jason huffs and punches him in the arm, not even trying to be gentle, but picks the bowl up and starts to eat, shoulders slumping. Dick gives in to the urge to ruffle his surprisingly soft hair, mussed up from being under the helmet, then bursts out laughing when Jason tries to snarl at him around a spoonful of cereal. 

“You’re adorable,” he says fondly, and Jason chokes on his cereal. Dick reaches over and firmly rubs his back in an attempt to help him stop spewing out milk and chewed up cereal. 

When he finally manages to control the choking, Jason wipes the back of his hand over his mouth and shoots a glare at Dick. “I am  _not_ adorable,” he says, voice a little raspy from all of the coughing, and his cheeks have just the slightest little bit of colour to them. 

Like Dick said before, he’s  _adorable_.

“You totally  _are_ , but okay.”

“How can a  _twenty year old_ be adorable?”

“You’re living proof of it, little wing.”

Dick wants to burst out laughing at the way Jason’s fingers tighten around the bowl in his hand like he wants to throw it at him, and then starts wheezing when Jason’s face starts to turn red as he slams the bowl down on the table and shakily gets to his feet, picking his helmet up as he goes. 

“Fuck you, man. You’re such an ass,” Jason hisses at him as he clutches his helmet to his chest, like it’ll protect him somehow. 

“Hey, hey, calm down,” Dick says, trying to contain his laughter as he leaps to his feet, but he’s sure that Jason’s eyes narrow when his lips threaten to twitch into a grin. 

He reaches out to grab Jason’s hand, and doesn’t even understand what he’s done wrong until Jason jerks away from him, dropping his helmet and holding his own hand out in front of himself to stare at it like it’s been contaminated. 

“Jay,” he murmurs, keeping his voice low and gentle. Jason stares back at him. Dick slowly reaches out, leaving his hands open and free for Jason to take, if he wants to. “Come on. I’m sorry for calling you adorable, but it’s not going to ruin your street cred in front of all the nonexistent people in my safe house. Sit back down.”

Jason huffs and takes a seat on the couch, back rigid and arms crossed as he glares up at Dick. He sighs and picks up Jason’s dishes to take them to the sink, then walks past Jason to the door of his bedroom, where he stops and turns to look back at Jason, who still looks a little pissy. 

“I’m going to have a shower, so you’re welcome to do what you want. Feel free to make yourself comfortable. If you want to make food, I’m pretty sure the fridge is quite full. Alfred stocked up the last time he came over,” Dick explains. Jason is still glaring at him with narrowed blue-green eyes. 

“Okay then. I’ll just — bye.” 

Dick gives him an awkward little wave, then rushes into his bedroom and strips off his suit and weapons, dropping them into the back of his wardrobe. He scratches at his scent neutralising patch before peeling it off and disposing of it, and then steps into his bathroom, switching on the shower. 

By the time Dick is done in the shower and dressed, towelling his damp hair as he walks back into the room, Jason is gone. There’s no sign of him, no scent left behind other than that of blood and cigarette smoke. Somehow Jason managed not to bleed all over the couch though, which Dick is grateful for. 

The bag containing the tiffin tin is also gone, and when Dick walks closer to the table, he notices a stack of cash. He’s confused for a moment, wondering who the hell broke into his safe house to give him money instead of taking it for themselves, and then he remembers who exactly was in here with him. 

It makes sense now, because Jason is a  _moron_ who thinks that he needs to pay his _family_ for taking care of him and making sure he doesn’t die. No matter. Dick will just give it back the next time he sees Jason. 

Which will probably be on patrol. After a few more injuries and after Dick not being able to scent Jason, but still knowing that he doesn’t smell like Pack, which is —  _depressing_ , to say the least. 

Who knows, maybe the goodies Alfred cooked for Jason will sway him into coming over to say thanks, and maybe he won’t be wearing any neutralisers, and maybe Dick will  _finally_ find out what Jason actually smells like. 

Ever since he first came back to Gotham, Dick has never smelled his true scent. He’s only ever smelled the bitter tinge of neutralisers, or the overpowering scent of an angered omega, or sour pain and sadness. 

Maybe Jason will finally let his guard down and let Dick scent him. That’s a bit of a reach, but Dick can hope. That’s all he  _can_ do, because Jason makes no promises to anyone other than Alfred. 

Dick still hopes,  _hopes_ that one day, his little brother can trust Dick not to hurt him, not to breach his trust or use his weaknesses against him. Because since Jason came back to them, Dick’s pretty sure that’s all he’s done. 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hello!! enjoy some long-awaited wooing and fluff :)

To his surprise, the next time Dick sees Jason isn’t on patrol. It isn’t even while they’re both sharing intel or working on a case with each other. 

Alfred had already told him that morning when they’d bumped into each other as Dick was heading to the toilet to relieve his bladder that they have company, but when he stumbles into the kitchen, bleary eyed and still tired, he isn’t expecting to see Jason sat on a stool at the island. His eyes are wide as he stares at Dick, a piece of what looks like a _very_ nice pancake dangling from the fork he’s holding mere inches away from his open mouth.

It’s relatively early in the morning, but despite the heavy bags under his eyes, Jason still manages to look fresh faced, something Dick has always envied. He realises that neither of them have said anything yet, so cautiously steps closer. 

“Morning, Jay,” Dick says softly as he brushes past Jason to reach into the pantry, lightly tapping the top of Jason’s shoulder with the tips of his fingers in greeting as he goes. He wants to ruffle Jason’s soft, messy hair, but is aware of the fact that Jason wouldn’t take to it too kindly. 

“Wasn’t expecting you to be here,” Dick continues as he fetches a bowl and then pours some cereal and milk into it before grabbing a spoon from the cutlery drawer, rounding the island and sitting opposite Jason. “But it’s a pleasant surprise nonetheless.”

When he looks up from his bowl of cereal, he notices that Jason’s eyes are wild and a little frightened, like he’s a cornered animal, and Dick hates the way it makes him feel as though he’s nothing more than a bloodthirsty predator hunting its prey, and is glad he didn’t sit _next_ to Jason. The thought had momentarily flitted through his mind before the sensible part of his brain decided to switch on and tell him that was _not_ a good idea. 

“You aren’t going to greet me? I’m hurt, Jason. I thought we were closer than that,” Dick says, pouting playfully, but he’s relieved when the fear dissipates from Jason’s gaze as he rolls his eyes and takes a bite of his pancake. Dick’s eyes are drawn to Jason’s mouth as his pouty lips wrap around the fork, his throat suddenly feeling very tight for some reason. 

The manners Alfred ingrained in him when he was younger are still present, because Jason chews and swallows his food, licking his lips before opening his mouth to speak. “Hi,” he deadpans, and Dick’s lips twitch into a fond smile. His voice is quiet and a little raspy, but Dick suspects that’s from sleep.

They sit there for a while in companionable silence, quietly eating their breakfast when Jason suddenly slouches a little and leans his elbow on top of the island, resting his cheek against the palm of his free hand. “Correct me if I’m wrong, but don’t you _like_ Alfred’s cooking?”

“Sure do,” Dick tries to mumble through his mouthful of food.

”So why aren’t you eating it?” Jason asks, pointing at the _huge_ stack of pancakes in an even huger plate on the counter next to the sink. Dick takes some time to swallow his food.

“Alfred and I made a deal.” Jason raises an eyebrow, telling him to continue. “Basically, if it’s a weekend, I’m here and I’m not too banged up from patrol, I get to choose what I have for breakfast.”

Jason’s other eyebrow rises to meet the first. “So out of _everything_ you could’ve had, you chose Crocky Crunch? Really, Dick?”

Dick feels irrationally defensive about his choice of breakfast. “Hey, it’s good, don’t judge me. And it has a high sugar intake.”

Jason somehow looks even more judgemental now. “Like you need _more_ of that.”

“I _do_ ,” he insists, pointing his spoon at Jason like it’ll help him to validate his point. “It helps to keep me awake after a long night of patrol.” Jason stares at him. “ _It does._ Even _Alfred_ agrees with me.” 

Jason snorts. “I very highly doubt that,” he says, smirking. “And even if he said that, it was probably only to stop you from whining about it.” 

Dick huffs, slightly put out. “Speaking of sweet stuff, what have you put on your pancakes?” He asks, wanting to change the subject so he doesn’t have to keep defending his lifestyle anymore.

“Because it smells like honey and smoke and wine, but I’m pretty sure that’s not what’s on your pancakes.” He gives Jason a teasing grin. “Unless you’ve had a sneaky drink already, which it is _way_ too early in the morning for, little wing.”

Jason splutters, cheeks flushing. “I don’t think your nose works properly because that — it’s _me_ you’re smelling.”

“Excuse me?” Dick doesn’t understand. 

The scent becomes even stronger, and it’s like he’s smelling it with every breath he takes, along with a bittersweet tinge which Dick _thinks_ is embarrassment. But he’s not embarrassed, he’s _confused_.

Jason sighs as he pinches the bridge of his nose, looking irritated. He’s still blushing though as he cuts another piece of pancake and leans across the island to forcefully shove it into Dick’s mouth, probably to stop him from talking.

“I put _maple syrup_ on my pancakes. The honey and smoke and — and the wine, that... is me. That’s _my_ scent,” Jason says, ears burning pink as his voice starts to go quieter. 

Dick hums in contemplation as he finishes chewing the food in his mouth, which does taste of maple syrup. Then he inhales through his nose, scenting the air around him, and now that his sleep-addled brain is _finally_ working, Dick realises that the sweet smell is coming from _Jason_. And really, he should’ve realised straight away, but Dick is an _idiot_ in the morning. 

“Oh. It’s _you_.”

Jason narrows his eyes. “What’s _that_ supposed to mean?” His lips curl back to bare his teeth in a snarl. “You think that just because I came back from the dead, I’m gonna smell like rotting flesh or something like that?” 

_What?_

“No. I didn’t say that or mean to imply it.”

“Then _what_ exactly _did_ you mean?” 

Dick doesn’t know. He didn’t mean anything by it. “Nothing. Just — you smell good, little wing,” he says, offering Jason a gentle smile. “It’s a nice scent. Thank you for trusting me enough to let me know what it is.” 

Jason scoffs at him, suspicious. “It wasn’t for _you_. It was for Alfie.” He ducks his head to suddenly stare at his food. His face is red. “He says he likes my scent, and that he misses it, so I thought I’d — yeah,” Jason mumbles. 

Dick beams at him.

“ _What?_ ”

“You’re cute,” Dick responds, still smiling at him. 

Jason’s face falls. “Grayson, do me a favour and _shut up_ for once in your life,” he grumbles, shovelling the remaining pieces of pancake into his mouth so he doesn’t have to talk or look at Dick. But Dick is persistent. He has to be, in a family like his. 

“No way, you’re _blushing_ right now, Jay.”

“ _Dick_.”

It sounds more like an insult than Jason just saying his name, but Dick lets it slide and mimes zipping his mouth shut, because Jason looks like he wants to vault over the island to strangle him. 

Yeah, Dick would prefer _not_ dying from asphyxiation again, thank you very much. 

He quickly and quietly finishes eating his cereal, then forces himself to stay sat down instead of fleeing to the sink to wash his dishes, clearing his throat. “So?”

Jason looks up, eyebrows furrowing as his pink tongue darts out and runs slowly along his lips, leaving them slick and shiny with spit, but there’s still a little smear of maple syrup on the corner of his mouth. 

Dick wants to lean in and lick it off. 

Wait, _what?_

“Look, I get that I’m unbearably hot, but you don’t need to stare. It’s getting kinda creepy now.”

Dick jumps, startled as his cheeks heat up. “I wasn’t staring.” Not _really_. Just admiring. God, what the hell is _wrong_ with him, _gawking_ at his brother’s mouth. 

“Oh, really?” Jason says, raising an unimpressed eyebrow, but his cheeks are red too. God, he’s so unbelievably _cute_. “Then what do you want?”

“Nothing! I just wanted to point out that you’ve, um, got a little something on your face, right there,” Dick rushes out, gesturing at the damnable stickiness on Jason’s lips. 

He’s pretty sure Jason’s, like, _biologically_ related to Alfred or something, because he pulls out an actual _handkerchief_ from the pocket of his sweats, delicately dabbing at the corner of his mouth. 

“Gone?”

It’s still there, just barely. 

Dick stands up and walks around the island, leaning down a little and cupping Jason’s chin to lift his face up, eyes fixed on his lips. He’s _very_ surprised Jason doesn’t knee him in the balls or punch his face or do _anything at all_ when Dick licks the tip of his thumb and then reaches out to place his other hand on Jason’s cheek, rubbing at the crease of his mouth. 

Instead, Jason just shivers and leans into his touch, lips parting as his eyes flutter closed, thick lashes resting on his cheekbones. He looks so soft, so trusting that Dick can’t help but want to lean in, and just —

_Kiss_ him. 

Shit. _Fuck_. This is _bad_. This is really, _really_ bad. 

“All done,” Dick blurts out as he leans back again, letting go of Jason’s face like his hands have been burned by the heat coming from Jason’s cheeks. He curses himself internally as he realises just how close he was to Jason, close enough that the tips of his fingers were almost brushing the sensitive scent glands just behind Jason’s ears.

Jason blinks his eyes open and turns with Dick as the door opens and Alfred steps into the kitchen, a somewhat knowing look in his eyes when he spares a glance at Dick, who feels like he’s being judged even though Alfred couldn’t _possibly_ know what he was thinking or doing.

Right?

Jason looks between the two of them, seeming even more confused. And then a funny look passes across his face and he sneezes three times in a row, like a little kitten, rubbing his nose, which Dick has only just noticed is a little red.

“Bless you, Master Jason,” Alfred says, and Dick’s glad to finally have the main focus of Alfred’s attention off of himself. “I am quite sure I recall requesting that you stay in bed until further notice, and that I was to bring your breakfast up to you. Am I wrong?” 

“Alfie, I’m fine,” Jason grumbles as he shrinks into his seat, crossing his arms and leaning back with a grumpy look on his face, like a little kid. It’s _precious_ , and Dick just wants to _squeeze_ him in a tight hug. 

_Wait a minute._

“What am I missing? Is something wrong, Jay?” Dick asks, concerned, all thoughts about kissing Jason’s soft mouth erased from his mind. Mostly. 

Alfred sighs, clearly exasperated, but there’s a fond twinkle in his eyes as he looks at Jason, who pointedly ignores both of them and stands up to move to the sink, starting to wash the dishes as his ears turn pink. And there’s that bittersweet tinge of embarrassment again. 

“Master Jason is feeling a little under the weather, so I suggested that he get some rest,” Alfred explains. “As you can see, he did not take my advice, and instead chose to stuff himself with pancakes.”

“ _Alfred!_ ” Jason sounds betrayed and outraged as he peeks over his shoulder at them, and it’s only slightly hilarious. “It’s only a cold. I thought we agreed that you weren’t going to tell anyone. Especially not _him_. He’ll make a big deal out of it and try to _hug_ me, and then Bruce will hate me again after I shoot his brains out.”

When Dick looks away from Jason, he can tell that Alfred is strongly refraining from rolling his eyes. “He is feverish and threw up after last night’s patrol.”

It’s only when Dick very carefully scents the air again that he notices a faint staleness to it. If Alfred hadn’t told him Dick wouldn’t have even realised that Jason is ill. That’s how good Jason has become at hiding when he’s hurt from them, and that doesn’t make Dick pleased or anything, because Jason has always had a shitty poker face. No offense to him, but he’s always had his heart on his sleeve.

If anything, it makes Dick sad that he _still_ feels like he can’t come to them for help, that Jason thinks they’ll make fun of him or think lowly of him or anything as utterly _ridiculous_ as either of those two suggestions.

Then Alfred turns to give Jason one of his patented _I am not dealing with any of your shit_ _today_ looks. “Master Jason, _really_. There’s no need to be so dramatic. Off to bed with you, or I’ll set Master Dick on you.”

“ _The horror._ ” Jason grins at Alfred as he puts the clean dishes away and then wipes his hands dry on a towel before leaving the kitchen. 

“Straight to bed, Master Jason,” Alfred calls out to his retreating back. “You’d best not be dawdling or antagonising your younger brothers when I come to bring your soup and check your temperature, or I will _not_ be pleased.”

It takes him a while, but Jason eventually says something, his response echoing through the hallways of Wayne Manor. “I can be good, Alfie, but I make no promises,” he shouts back, voice ringing with laughter. 

Alfred sighs next to him as Dick stares after Jason. “The two of you are truly oblivious,” Alfred says, shaking his head. 

Dick turns to him, confused. “What’s that supposed to mean?” 

“No matter,” Alfred says, dismissing him with a wave of his hand. “You’ll figure it out sooner or later, and if you take too long for my liking, I’ll nudge you both in the right direction.”

“I don’t understand.”

Another sigh. “Of course not, Master Dick. When it comes to others, you all seem to be _experts_ , but expecting any of you to understand your own feelings would be asking far too much of you.”

Dick thinks he should be offended, but he still doesn’t know what the hell Alfred is talking about, and it doesn’t seem like Alfred is going to explain anything, so he’ll have to figure it out for himself.

“Master Dick, would you mind checking on Master Jason for me?” Alfred says as he starts pulling food out of the fridge, but it’s clearly not a request. “Keep him occupied or he will try to leave.”

“Um, what am I supposed to do? He doesn’t exactly like spending a lot of time with me.” 

“Perhaps try holding a conversation with him which lasts longer than one minute and doesn’t result in either of you shouting or storming out of the manor,” Alfred dryly suggests under his breath, but Dick still hears it loud and clear. 

“At least I’m not as bad as Bruce,” Dick mumbles, but of course, Alfred still hears him, raising a severely unimpressed eyebrow. 

“Master Dick, I pity you if you think _Master Bruce_ , of all people, is an acceptable standard to hold yourself up to when it comes to communicating with your family, and can only wonder where I have gone wrong.”

Dick opens his mouth to protest but one withering look from Alfred makes him snap it shut again, feeling like a little kid who’s being told off. “I’m — gonna go find Jason now. Do you want me to send Tim and Damian down?” 

“Thank you kindly for your generosity, Master Dick, but I have already woken them up.” 

“Oh. Okay then. I’ll just go, I guess.”

“You do that, Master Dick,” Alfred says as he turns around, clearly dismissing him. Dick stands there for a moment before turning around and walking out of the kitchen, shoulders hunched up to his ears.

He loves Alfred, really, but he hates it when he’s made to feel like an idiot around him, which is pretty much _all of the time_. 

On his way up the staircase, he comes across Damian, still in his bed clothes. He’s in the middle of rubbing his eyes as he walks down the stairs, so doesn’t realise that Dick is there until he bumps his face into Dick’s chest. 

Damian stiffens in front of him, arms almost automatically reaching for a weapon that isn’t there before he remembers to actually look up. When he notices that it’s Dick, he relaxes and slumps into Dick’s arms, closing his eyes with a small frown on his face, tiny fingers curling into Dick’s shirt. 

Dick smiles down at the top of his head, then bends a little to scoop Damian up into his arms, and Damian _willingly_ wraps around him like a baby koala, legs wrapped around his waist as he leans on Dick’s shoulder. 

It’s only the most _adorable_ thing _ever_.

“Tired?” He asks gently, grin softening when Damian just grumbles into his neck, slowly blinking and fluttering his lashes over Dick’s skin, making him tense up. Damian’s still quite light, but heavier than he used to be as Dick slowly carries him back down the stairs, nuzzling his gel-free hair where it curls over his ears and at the crown of his head. 

Damian hasn’t presented yet, so he doesn’t smell like anything but the no tears strawberry shampoo he secretly likes to indulge in using, and a strong oil which Dick doesn’t recognise the smell of, but the scent is comforting and familiar nonetheless as Dick breathes it in through his nose, rubbing his cheek over the glands on Damian’s neck to scent him as his own.

“Wha’ you doin’, Richard? Not a baby,” Damian mumbles, and it seems like he can’t be bothered to lift his head from Dick’s shoulder. 

“Maybe, but you’re still my _baby_ brother. My very clingy baby _limpet_ brother,” Dick teases him. “And I missed you.”

“You saw me not even five hours ago when we patrolled together, Grayson, and you call _me_ the clingy one,” Damian huffs, and he looks embarrassed on Dick’s behalf, a faint flush rising to his face, but Dick still catches the pleased little curl to his lips. 

Dick just shrugs at him, nosing at Damian’s temple. “Miss you all the time, you know that.” Damian is silent for a minute, then wraps his arms around Dick’s neck, pressing his face into Dick’s neck. 

“Still here. You should come and stay more often, not just after long patrols.” The next thing he says is in a softer voice, quieter, a little shy even. “I miss you too.” 

Dick squeezes him tight, and Damian makes a high pitched little sound, then snaps his mouth shut with a click. Dick rears back to look at him with wide eyes, and Damian avoids his gaze, ears red. 

“Did you just _squeak?_ ”

Damian gasps, apparently outraged at the mere suggestion that he would ever make such a sound. 

“I know that you’re ticklish, Dami, you don’t need to hide it,” Dick says, trying to bug him into admitting it. Damian keeps his mouth shut. Dick narrows his eyes, nowhere near prepared to admit defeat.

“I’ve heard you giggle before, but never squeak.” 

That sets Damian off, making him splutter. “ _Silence_ , Grayson, I did no such thing.” He wriggles his way out of Dick’s arms onto the floor and jabs a threatening finger in Dick’s direction. “You’re clearly going senile in your old age. And I am _not_ ticklish. That particular weakness was trained out of me at a very young age.”

” _Trained out of you?”_ Dick repeats, his mouth tasting sour in the same way that it always does every time Damian brings up his childhood or an aspect of his ‘training.’ “And it’s hardly a weakness.” 

“Yes,” Damian confirms, nodding as he crosses his arms. “A milder form of learning to resist torture. And I did _not_ squeak _or_ giggle,” he adds on the end, scowling at Dick.

Dick gives him a _look_ , but Damian gives him one back, only it’s even better, because Damian is both as stubborn as a mule, and he’s _Bruce's_ son. 

“ _Right_ ,” Dick drawls, playing along. “I haven’t slept much, must’ve just been hearing things.”

“Of course,” Damian agrees, a haughty expression on his face as he nods up at Dick. “That’s quite a reasonable explanation coming from _you_ , Grayson.”

And then he pauses, brows furrowed as he looks up at Dick, concern shining in his eyes. “Why haven’t you slept? I’ve already told you that you mustn’t turn into Father and Drake by staying up too late and going over cases.” 

Dick laughs. “No, it’s nothing like that,” he reassures Damian, ruffling his hair. “Just had a late night, remember? Couldn’t get to sleep.”

Damian hums, then smirks gleefully up at him. “I can see _that_ , Grayson. As Todd would say, you look like _shit_.” 

Dick gapes at him for a few seconds, then shoves him lightly. Damian comes back at him with a vengeance, making Dick grunt when he’s head-butted in the stomach.

“You need to watch your language, you little ruffian,” Dick chides him, pinching Damian’s cheek and then bringing it back before it gets broken or chopped off or anything as completely harmless as either of those two options. 

“And for your information, I happened to be in the kitchen at the same time as Jason today while we were eating breakfast, and he said nothing of the sort, you little liar,” Dick continues, flicking Damian on the forehead. 

Damian glares at him, touching the afflicted spot before his smirk widens even further. “Oh, really? Are you sure you didn’t go actively _looking_ for Todd?” 

Dick’s confused. He doesn’t understand what Damian’s trying to imply. “What do you mean?” 

Damian sighs, rolling his eyes, like dealing with Dick at this time of day is _such_ a hardship. Actually, now that Dick considers it, he’s pretty sure Damian thinks that dealing with anyone at any time at all is a hardship.

“I _mean_ , that you’ve been trying to get closer to Todd recently, haven’t you?” Dick nods slowly, unsure of what he’s getting at. “And how has _that_ been going for you?”

”Well, he let me patch him up a little while ago, and he accepted food that I gave to him from one of my safe houses,” Dick starts, completely clueless about where the hell this conversation is meant to be going. “Oh, and we kinda had a conversation this morning. He let me touch him.” 

Damian recoils, disgust flashing across his face, and it’s then that Dick recalls his poor choice of wording and reddens. “Not like _that_ , Damian, _jeez!_ Just to clean his face!” He blurts out, voice cracking like he’s a teenage boy who’s still going through puberty. 

“Quiet, Grayson. I don’t want to know about your sex life, so spare me the details.” Dick chokes on his own spit, and Damian tries to help him by whacking his back. It doesn’t really work. 

Once Dick has finally caught his breath, chest heaving as he wheezes, he looks incredulously at Damian. “What does my _sex life_ have to do with getting closer to Jason?” 

Damian just stares at him like he’s an absolute idiot, and then when Dick doesn’t do anything in response, he rolls his eyes, shaking his head. “You are the most clueless human being I have ever had the misfortune of meeting.”

He ignores Dick’s offended _hey!_ and carries on speaking. “Why do you wish to get closer to Todd? What are your intentions?”

Dick laughs nervously, rubbing the back of his neck. “Damian, why does it sound like you’re giving me the shovel talk?” Damian doesn’t say anything, narrowing his eyes instead.

“I just — he’s family, you know? Even if he thinks he isn’t,” Dick tries to explain, but it doesn’t look like Damian understands. Or rather, he _does_ , but he doesn’t like the sound of Dick’s explanation.

“I was, for lack of better words, a _dick_ to him when we were younger,” he continues, and Damian snorts. “Then he died, and I realised that I never really knew him. But he’s back now and I want to make it up to him, I want to help him feel accepted so he comes back home someday.” 

Damian squints at him, studying his expression, and then he lets out a huge sigh as he pinches the bridge of his nose. Dick doesn’t think he’s ever looked more like Bruce.

“You are a brainless half-wit, Richard,” he states. _Ouch_. “I hope you know that. Go find Todd and _actually speak_ to him. Do not talk in circles, you have a horrible habit of doing it and he _loathes_ it.”

“You’re so mean to me, Dami,” Dick whines as he hooks an arm over Damian’s shoulder and brings him in close for a noogie. Damian squawks and pushes him away, trying to pat down his messy hair, but it’s pointless, only serving to spike it up even more. 

“Since when were you so close to Jason, hm?” Dick needles. Damian huffs at him, crossing his arms as he stiffens.

“He _is_ my brother, and my pack. Why wouldn’t I be close to him?” Damian mumbles under his breath, cheeks pink with embarrassment, but Dick still hears it, grinning widely as he swoops in behind Damian for a quick hug.

“You’re so cute,” he says, and Damian makes a frustrated sound in the back of his throat as he tries to peel Dick’s arms off from his waist. 

“I am not a small animal, Grayson, now _go away,_ ” Damian begs as he backs away from Dick, holding his hands out defensively in front of him, like he thinks Dick will attack him.

“For what it’s worth, when you both stop being complete and utter _morons_ and it finally clicks, remember that I said this: Todd is acceptable.”

“Jason’s acceptable at what?” Dick asks, feeling very lost and confused.

“Todd is acceptable,” Damian repeats, not bothering to elaborate.

“But what does that even _mean?_ ” 

Damian doesn’t answer, instead turning to walk to the kitchen for his breakfast. As he’s about to round a corner and disappear from sight, Damian tilts his head to call out over his shoulder, “Take him some books! _Good_ ones, not your trashy romance novels.” And then he’s gone. 

Dick stares after him, shaking his head as he tries to bite back a smile, then turns to make his way back up the stairs and to the manor’s main library to grab Jason some books as a peace offering, like Damian suggested. As much of a brat Damian can be, he’s a smart kid. 

He spends nearly twenty minutes in the library, deliberating aimlessly over what books to choose that Jason would actually _like_ before plucking three up and carrying them out, throat suddenly dry and tight with anticipation. 

Tim’s room is on the way to Jason’s, so he makes a quick detour, seeing as Tim clearly isn’t going to come down anytime soon to eat breakfast _himself_ , and shifts the books to cradle them in the crook of his right arm, knocking on the door. 

There’s no answer, so Dick knocks again, calling out Tim’s name. When the door stays closed and Dick can’t detect any sound or movement after pressing his ear up against it, he juggles the books in his arms and presses down on the handle with his elbow, pushing the door open. 

Tim is still in bed, snoring away, and when Dick moves closer to set the pile of books on the bedside table, he notices with mild amusement that Tim’s nose is scrunched up as he drools onto his pillow, the hair on one side of his head completely flattened, the other half curling up into unruly little spikes. 

Dick smiles fondly as he sits down on the edge of the bed, lifting a hand to stroke it through Tim’s messy hair. Tim frowns in his sleep, trying to bat away Dick’s hand, and when that doesn’t work, he slowly wakes up, blinking at Dick with bleary eyes. 

“Hey, Timmy,” Dick says softly, booping his nose and watching as the wrinkles smooth out. Tim squints up at him for a little while longer before groaning and rolling over, turning his back to Dick. 

“Come on, Tim,” Dick says, shaking his shoulder gently, but Tim stubbornly stays on his side, smacking at Dick’s insistent fingers. “Breakfast is already made. There’s pancakes and I’ll even let you have coffee.” 

Tim perks up at that and then rolls over onto his back, pouting up at Dick. “You’re a liar, Dick Grayson. A cruel, manipulative _liar_.” 

Dick laughs, ruffling his hair, and Tim lets him this time, frowning as he twists under the sheets and eventually stumbles out of his bed and towards the bathroom, locking the door behind him. 

Dick settles comfortably on the bed and picks up one of the books he’s gotten for Jason to flick through a few pages of it. He’s halfway through the third chapter when he realises that it’s been around ten minutes since Tim went into the bathroom and he hasn’t even heard the sound of the toilet flushing yet. 

“Tim, please don’t tell me you’ve fallen asleep on the toilet,” Dick calls out as he sets the book back down and stands up, making his way to the bathroom door and jiggling the handle. 

When he presses his ear to the door to try and listen for signs of life, Dick hears the sound of Tim mumbling to himself followed by the toilet flushing and the tap running, then the door clicks open to reveal a pink faced Tim. 

“You totally had a little nap on the toilet, didn’t you?” Dick asks with a widening grin, laughing when Tim scowls at him and punches him in the arm before going back to the bathroom sink to brush his teeth and wash his face. 

Dick leans against the wall and fishes his phone out of the pocket of his sweats, scrolling through his messages as he waits for Tim to finish up, then follows him back into the bedroom.

Dick doesn’t know why he tenses up when he sees Tim sort through the books for Jason, and Tim’s eyebrows start rising when he sees the title on the one at the bottom of the pile. “Are these for Jason?” Tim asks, looking up at him, and Dick should’ve known that he’d realise. 

“Yeah, just wanted him to feel a little more welcome here,” Dick says, forcing his voice to stay calm and steady so that it doesn’t give anything away. Not that it would, because Dick is telling the truth and has nothing to hide from Tim. 

Well, other than the fact that he had wanted to kiss Jason in the kitchen. But that’s a minor thing. Nothing to ponder over or mention to _Tim,_ of all people. 

“You don’t think he’d have felt more at ease if he’d been able to go and pick them out himself?” Tim asks, curiously tilting his head to the side a little, like a bird. Like a _robin_ , in every sense of the word. 

“I — not necessarily,” Dick stutters. But of course, Tim sees right through him and raises an eyebrow, frighteningly similar to Alfred. He hums in dismissal and turns back to the books, inspecting them as Dick walks up to him and rests his chin on top of Tim’s head, breathing in the scent of ginger root tea, of lemon and mint. 

Tim grumbles as he ducks away, jabbing at Dick’s chest with his fingers. “Not a headrest,” he scolds Dick, pointing at him. “And why is your chin so pointy?” 

“It is _not_ pointy,” Dick exclaims, then gasps in mock outrage when Tim sticks his tongue out at him, and goes to lightly swat the back of Tim’s head. “Your head is just very delicate and fragile.” 

“Hate you,” Tim mutters under his breath, frowning when Dick playfully messes his hair up even more, and tries to flatten it down a little.

Dick flicks at a little tuft of hair near the crown of Tim’s head, stubbornly sticking out at a completely different angle to the rest of his hair, prompting Tim to bump his head into Dick’s shoulder. Then Dick throws an arm over Tim’s shoulder and picks up the books before leading him to the door, rubbing his cheek over Tim’s hair to scent him.

Tim leans into him, smiling a little as he nuzzles into the side of Dick’s neck, scenting him in turn. “Missed you, Dick,” he says quietly, eyelashes tickling Dick’s skin as Tim blinks. “It’s nice to have you here again.” 

Dick turns and pulls him into a hug, squeezing his arms around Tim’s waist tight enough to lift him up a little. Tim squirms a little, limbs flailing before he finally gives in and returns the embrace, and Dick smells a happy little burst of lemon curd as he presses a kiss to Tim’s forehead.

When he sets Tim back down onto the floor, Dick notices his mouth twitch into a smirk. “Go and see Jason,” he says, amusement shining in his eyes. “I know he’s just _dying_ to see you.”

“What’s _that_ supposed to mean?” 

“Oh, nothing too bad,” Tim answers, his smirk widening into a grin. “I’m sure you’ll both figure it out soon enough,” he continues, and it’s like an echo of Alfred’s earlier words, sending a strange shiver down Dick’s spine. 

“You’re creeping me out,” Dick whines, and Tim just grins at him, laughter sparking bright in his eyes as he gently shoves Dick away from him and in the direction of Jason’s room. His _old_ room. 

Dick stumbles to a stop and turns around to look at Tim, who is still smiling, and frowns at him, confused.

“Jason still sleeps in his old room when he comes over?” He asks, not daring to raise his voice above anything but a murmur, feeling as though the ghost of a young Jason Todd will come to shriek at him if he speaks any louder, or even the adult Jason if he were to find out that the past him was being gossiped about. 

“Yes, and no, I can guarantee that the manor will _not_ flood or set itself on fire or spontaneously combust or anything like that if you so much as step foot into Jason’s room. Trust me, it’s been tried and tested. Now _go_ ,” Tim says to him, and for a moment, Dick feels like he’s being told off. 

“I’m going, and I wasn’t thinking that,” Dick lies as he walks away, waving at Tim over his shoulder. He makes his way towards Jason’s room, mouth gradually drying up even more the closer he gets to his destination.

Eventually he reaches Jason’s door and lifts his hand to knock, but can’t seem to make it connect with the wood of the door, can’t seem to actually try and go in without feeling like he’s trespassing on private property, going into a formerly dead boy’s room without said boy’s permission. 

But it looks like his decision is being made for him, because the door swings open to reveal Alfred on the other side of it, carrying an empty tray. Dick can just about see Jason sat on his bed if he peeks over Alfred’s shoulder, sipping on some orange juice with a bowl of soup balancing precariously in his lap.

Jason’s eyes flash up at him, then down at the books in his arms, and Dick is entranced for a moment before his attention is drawn away from Jason by the sound of Alfred clearing his throat. Alfred’s giving him that same weird look he gave Dick in the kitchen.

“Ah, Master Dick. Perfect timing, I have just checked Master Jason’s temperature and decided that he will be resting until further notice. Do keep an eye on him for me, will you?” Alfred turns to look at Jason, who’s suddenly avoiding looking at both of them. “We wouldn’t want his condition to deteriorate, would we?” 

“I’ll take care of him, Alf,” Dick says softly, but he’s pretty sure Jason still hears it, going by the annoyed look on his face as he shovels a spoonful of soup into his mouth and glares at Dick. 

Alfred gives Dick a gentle smile as he lifts a hand to squeeze his shoulder, and there’s a contented swell of lavender and tea leaves. “Good lad. See that you do,” Alfred calls over his shoulder as he smoothly manoeuvres around Dick, who is still stood in the doorway, leaving Dick and Jason alone again. 

“So...” Dick starts, awkwardly clearing his throat, and Jason rolls his eyes. 

“Dickie, get the fuck in here and close the door. How are you supposed to be ‘taking care of me’ from all the way over there?” Jason sounds exasperated, and he actually lifts his hands up to do air quotes. Dick can’t help but smile at him, ridiculously endeared. 

“I don’t know, Jay. I wouldn’t want to disturb the dust.” 

Jason snorts at that. “Alfred would have your head on a platter if he thought you so much as _implied_ that there was dust in this room.” His face softens slightly, and he looks a little sad. “The first time I came to stay the night, I was just as shocked as you.”

“Everything was still in its place from where it had been before I died, but it was so _clean,”_ Jason says, shaking his head like he’s trying to get rid of a disturbing thought trapped in his mind. “Couldn’t sleep in here the first few times until Alfie finally rearranged it a little.” 

“That’s completely understandable,” Dick replies, keeping his voice low. There’s a fierce, defensive sort of look in Jason’s eyes, and for a moment, Dick thinks he’s going to get snapped at or told to leave, but Jason just stays quiet, patting the bed twice and gesturing for Dick to come over to him. 

“I, um, I brought you these too,” Dick says, holding the books up in front of him, and Jason narrows his eyes. “Thought you’d like something to keep you occupied because I know you don’t really like staying here that much.”

Jason blinks at him, and Dick’s eyes are drawn to his mouth as he chews on his lower lip, so he notices when it curls into a tiny smile. “It’s not all that bad,” he says, refusing to meet Dick’s eyes. “Not if I have good company.”

His smile widens as he looks back at Dick. “Now bring those over here and let me have a look at ‘em. I’ll see if they’re good enough to stop me from kicking you back out.”

Dick doesn’t say anything, just walks over and sits down in front of Jason to offer him the books, watching quietly as his face slowly brightens even more when he sees _Little Women_ and _Fahrenheit 451_ in the pile of books. It’s enough for him to see the way Jason finally lights up as he picks up the last book: _Pride and Prejudice_.

His heart flutters wildly in his chest as Jason grins at him in gratitude and then goes pink as he turns the cover to see his own loopy writing spelling out his name underneath that of Bruce’s and Martha Wayne’s. 

Jason doesn’t have to thank him for Dick to know that he’s grateful. Dick is grateful too for the fact that Jason is accepting this, for the fact he wasn’t just turned away or told to leave as soon as Jason took the books from him.

Dick’s grateful that he’s being given permission, subtle as it may be, to scent Jason, and to breathe in Jason’s scent in turn, sweet and smoky and intoxicating, with a few hints of lavender here and there.

He’s grateful that maybe, just maybe, as he barely leans into Dick’s side, their bodies brushing from shoulder to ankle, Jason might be starting to let him in. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry for the wait everyone, i’ll try and get the next chapter out sooner rather than later. but i hope you enjoyed!!


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> writer’s block is _awful_ and i’m _so_ sorry for the extremely long wait, please forgive me!!

Jason has been in a mood since before patrol started, especially after talking to Bruce about something which Dick definitely knows nothing about. He definitely hasn’t been eavesdropping on _any_ of their conversations. At all.

But they’ve been paired up now to disarm several bombs dotted all over Gotham, and Dick is on the verge of snapping at Jason to stop making snarky little comments under his breath about how he doesn’t need _Dick’s_ help to disarm a bomb and that he’s been doing it for years.

That’s when Bruce’s voice cuts in through the comms. “Focus on the mission. This isn’t the time or place for petty arguments. Gotham City is in danger and we can’t afford to have you two squabbling while we’re trying to defuse bombs and evacuate the civilians.”

Jason rolls his eyes and grumbles something into the comm that Dick can’t quite make out, then balls his hands into fists, which is never a good sign. Dick inhales slowly and then sighs softly in relief when Jason cuts one final wire and the timer on the tiny screen in front of them freezes and then switches off.

“Told you I could do it myself,” Jason says, and Dick bites down on his tongue so he doesn’t say or do something he’ll inevitably regret, instead offering Jason a hand up so he can stand and make his way out of the mess of tools and wires tangled around his ankles.

“Two more to go on our end,” Dick says, hoping that will make Jason unfreeze and spur him into action. It gets him to move, but Jason doesn’t take his hand, pushes it away instead and gets to his feet in a surprisingly fluid movement for someone of his size.

He finds himself distractedly staring at Jason’s thighs in his cargo pants as they flex while he stands up and then turns his face away, hoping Jason didn’t notice his ogling or how red he’s gone.

“You take one and I’ll take the other?” Dick suggests, and Jason’s full of surprises today, simply grunting in agreement before stepping over the millions of pieces of shattered glass on the floor, sparkling like crystals in the moonlight, then hauls himself through the broken window. And then with one last glance back at Dick over his shoulder, he fires his grapple gun and leaps, leaving Dick staring almost longingly after him.

Almost as soon as he’s out of sight but _definitely_ not out of mind, Dick hears Jason’s voice over the comms. “I’ll do the Bowery, you do Amusement Mile,” he orders gruffly before cutting the line. Dick can feel his face twisting with displeasure underneath his mask at how _dismissive_ Jason is, but just shakes it off and jumps out of the window too.

Dick has got a lot more bruises than before by the time he makes it to the location of the bomb, and there’s one particularly annoying cut right on the edge of his hairline, blood trickling down his forehead and nearly dripping into his eyes.

He absentmindedly wipes at his temple and rolls his aching shoulders before he scales up the side of the building and kicks in a window before crawling in and landing lightly on his feet. The bomb is fairly easy to find, nestled inside a closed drawer. Dick carefully pulls it out and places it on the desk in front of him, taking his tools out of his belt.

He unscrews the back of it and gently pulls all of the wires out, which are even more of a tangled mess than the one he and Jason defused together. Sweat beads on Dick’s forehead and drips down his face as he uses his set of pliers to snip the correct wires, red then blue then green, then red again, and a final blue wire which brings the timer on the bomb to a stop.

Dick wipes the back of his hand over his sweaty face, then brings it up to his ear. “All clear,” he says into his comm link, which is echoed mere seconds later by everyone else except Jason, who must still be working on his bomb. Dick sits there anxiously on the floor with his defused bomb, waiting for Jason to say something.

It must only have been minutes, but it feels like days have passed before Jason finally confirms that he’s managed to defuse his bomb too, and Dick breathes out a sigh of relief, dropping his face into his hands, then collects his tools together to put them back into his utility belt before climbing back out the window.

He finds himself thinking that it’s been a pretty short patrol tonight, brief but tense, what with all of the bombs planted in almost every inch of Gotham. And then Oracle is paging everyone through the comms, issuing a red alert. “There’s still one bomb left, I’m not sure why I couldn’t pick it up until now but there are a few crates of fear toxin in close proximity to it and we _can’t_ afford to let that spread to the citizens who are still here.”

Dick freezes and then sets off running, not even knowing where he’s heading to until he hears Bruce ask for the location of the bomb. “It’s Crime Alley.” Dick tenses up, and he knows what Oracle is going to say before he even hears her speak. “Red Hood is closest, and Nightwing is second. Both of you go.”

“I don’t need any backup,” Jason snaps, and Dick can tell that he’s planning on taking the bomb out himself, that he would’ve gone for it even if he wasn’t told to by Oracle. Well, he should know by now that Dick is not going to stand for that. He’s not going to let Jason do it alone, especially not when there’s fear toxin nearby and they all have things to be scared of.

It takes him a while but he eventually catches sight of the glint of Jason’s red helmet a few rooftops away, and he doesn’t think Jason has realised that he’s there yet. Dick jumps down from the rooftop and lands on a fire escape, leaping off it and firing his grapple gun, swinging until he can see the pile of crates Oracle was talking about.

He puts on his rebreather just in case there’s an emergency before starting to move the crates, a hell of a lot heavier than he expected, to a nearby junkyard which is free of people and makes sure they’re secure. “Hood, you’re not going to make it, you haven’t even found the bomb yet and there’s less than half a minute left on the timer,” Oracle suddenly pipes up, and her voice is as mechanical and monotonous as always, but Dick swears he can hear the slight panic in it.

“I have to _try_ ,” Jason insists, stubborn as always, but he’s got to be absolutely fucking _crazy_ if he thinks that Dick is just going to leave him to die in an explosion again. He leaves the last few crates behind and follows the little red dot which is Jason’s tracker into the building. And then it explodes, sending Dick flying into a wall with a sickening crack before he slumps to the floor, unconscious.

* * *

When he wakes up, he can barely see anything, and there’s a dull ache at the back of his head. Dick reaches a hand back to touch it and hisses when he feels a tiny lump underneath his hair. He can definitely smell smoke and ash, sending him into a coughing fit, which means his rebreather must be cracked, if not completely useless, so he throws it off.

“Hood!” Dick yells as he pushes himself to his feet, supporting himself by leaning against the wall and wincing when his back cracks. He stands there for a moment, panting as he waits for an answer which he doesn’t get.

“Hood, can you hear me?” He calls out again, and his voice is probably this hoarse for the same reason that his throat feels sore — he must have inhaled some smoke. Jason still isn’t answering, and Dick’s heart skips a beat. It’s possible that he’s just unconscious, knocked out by the force of the explosion like Dick was. Or it could be something entirely more sinister.

Dick coughs again and it makes his head pound with pain as he starts to walk, still shouting. He figures that they’re the only ones here, so saying Jason’s real name shouldn’t be an issue. “Jason! Jay, if you can hear me, just say or do something to let me know!” He yells as loudly as he can, and he can feel his eyes starting to sting when there isn’t a response.

“ _Please_ , little wing,” Dick begs as his vision starts to blur, chest aching as he fights his way through the smoke and fire and climbs over piles of rubble. “Don’t do this to us.” They can’t have lost Jason _again_ , not when they’d just about gotten him back.

Dick stands there for a moment and tries to listen out for any signs of Jason still being awake, or at least _alive_ , but his heart breaks as he realises that the only sound he can hear is his own panicked breathing. His cheeks feel wet, and Dick’s hands are trembling so much when he automatically brings them up to wipe at his face, feeling impossibly cold.

And then he hears something. It’s faint enough that Dick thinks he’s imagining it at first, but no, there it is again. A voice, calling out something which sounds close enough to his name. Dick sniffles and starts moving again, following the voice as it gets louder and gradually more shaky and breathy, like whoever’s calling out for him is holding back tears.

“Jay?” Dick calls out, cautious as he feels his way around in the dark, nearly tripping over a fallen beam on the floor, but he maintains his balance and stays standing. “Jay, is that you?”

“Dick?” He hears Jason respond, and his voice is watery, which is more than a little concerning. Dick moves faster, makes his way around shattered pieces of glass scattered all over the floor next to a broken window, has to leap over a gaping hole in the ground that he nearly didn’t notice which would have sent him crashing down into roaring flames.

But eventually he gets there, is close enough to Jason that he could almost be in the same room as him, if it wasn’t for the fact that Jason is nowhere to be seen. But he can still smell Jason, can just about smell the sweet tinge of honey and wine almost completely overpowered by the scent of burning and sour fear. His scent blocker must have been damaged by the searing heat and the force of the explosion.

“Jay, I’m here,” Dick says as he spots some uneven ground and carefully walks over to it, peeking downwards to see a small hole covered in rubble. He can hear Jason cursing, and realises that he’s trapped — not good at all.

“Fuck,” Jason suddenly yells, and his voice breaks. “I’m stuck. Dick, I’m stuck, I can’t move, can’t _breathe_.” Dick is even more worried, wondering what else is keeping Jason stuck underneath all of the rubble and broken bricks.

“Jay, I can’t see you, is anything stuck on top of you?” Dick asks him, trying to distract Jason from the feeling of being trapped.

“No, but I-I can’t see anything though and I’m trapped underneath a pile of rubble,” Jason stutters, and Dick wishes he was there with him so he could see his face and at least try to comfort him. There’s suddenly a faint thud and then Dick can hear Jason starting to panic. “I’m trapped, I can’t _see_ , Dick, _help me_.”

“I’m trying my best, Jay, just give me a few minutes and I’ll get you out, okay?” Dick tries to soothe him, but Jason just isn’t having it. Dick can hear him starting to cry and scream and punch out at the rubble covering him and speeds up with his own digging through the bricks.

“I’m gonna die here,” he hears Jason whimper, and his heart stops. “I don’t wanna die again yet, please, _please_ get me out,” he slurs through sobs, barely understandable.

“You’re not going to die, Jason, I’m nearly there,” Dick says, trying to keep his voice as firm as possible so that Jason can’t tell how scared he is too.

“Yes, I _am_ ,” Jason insists, voice thick with tears as Dick pulls back another layer of rubble, nearly falling into the hole himself in his desperation. “It’s cold and dark and I’m _trapped_ , and I’m covered in dirt and my own blood and all I can smell is rain and soil.”

Dick pauses at that, knowing that it hasn’t rained in over a week, nor has it rained today since patrol started. And then Jason suddenly starts screaming for Bruce, for Batman, for his dad to come and save him — that’s when it clicks, and he starts digging even quicker, his gloves tearing.

Dick concentrates on digging through the rubble instead of comforting Jason, and he feels _awful_ as he listens to Jason’s pleas and sobs, wondering if anyone heard Jason when he had to dig his way out of his own grave.

He pulls a final brick out of the way and sees something that looks like the red of Jason’s helmet, but it’s dusty and covered in soot, cracks spiralling all along it like a spider’s web. It must have been damaged in the explosion too. Dick keeps going until he can see a frantic hand pulling at the bricks too.

He reaches out until their fingers brush, and Jason’s hand jerks back, but Dick holds on tight, squeezing at Jason’s wrist until Jason stops trying to pull his hand away. “B?” Jason whispers, and he sounds hopeful, so Dick feels a little bad when he brushes aside a little more rubble and sticks his hand further into the hole so Jason can actually _see_ it and hold onto it, can see the blue of Dick’s fingerstripes and not just the plain black of Bruce’s gloves.

Dick pushes another brick out of the way and sees Jason’s face, pale and desperate and sweaty and covered in tears and soot. Dick reaches out his free hand and grabs hold of Jason’s wrist, then starts to pull him up and out of the hole, and it strains his aching muscles but eventually, once Jason’s calmed down enough to try and push himself up too, he’s able to yank Jason out, tumbling onto his back once he’s done.

“I got you, Jay. You’re safe,” Dick says and squeezes his hands as Jason slowly sits up, shivering. From what Dick can see of Jason through his broken helmet, he looks sickly pale and his hair is damp with sweat and a little bit of blood, bangs sticking to his forehead.

“You wanna take this off?” Dick asks gently, reaching out to tap the side of Jason’s helmet, and Jason nods slowly, lifting his own shaking hands to lift the helmet up and off his head. Dick barely even manages to see his face before Jason’s throwing the damaged helmet to the side and doubling over, dry heaving and spitting out mouthfuls of dust.

Dick follows him and pets his hair as he strokes down Jason’s trembling back while he gasps for air between bouts of throwing up onto the floor. Eventually Jason stops and leans back, wiping at his mouth and then dropping his hand to his leg, fingers digging into his thigh through the fabric of his pants.

“Fuck,” he whispers, and Dick reaches out to tentatively touch the side of his arm, flattening his palm over Jason’s bicep once he’s sure it won’t be shaken off.

“You’re alive,” Dick murmurs as he slowly places a hand on Jason’s face and wipes away his tears, thumb lingering on his cheek. “You’re safe, you’re not trapped, and it’s not raining. And I’m here with you. I got you, I promise.”

“ _I’m alive_ ,” Jason agrees softly, and he sounds a little shocked about it as he covers Dick’s hand with his own and leans in to press their foreheads together, eyes fluttering closed as his head drops and he noses at the scent gland on Dick’s neck, breathing in deep. Dick freezes, eyes wide as he stares at Jason, who’s just focusing on calming his breathing, and then he closes his own eyes too and tangles their fingers together, squeezing Jason’s hand in his own.

They sit there for a moment in peace before Jason suddenly clears his throat and sits back so that both of their hands fall from his face, and Dick reluctantly opens his eyes to see Jason avoiding his gaze, face still pale, but his ears and neck are flushed pink.

It’s then that he notices the unnatural green glow of Jason’s eyes, and is caught staring. “What?” Jason snaps, eyes burning even brighter, and Dick rushes to explain himself.

“I — your eyes,” he stutters. “They’re _glowing_ ,” he whispers, both in awe of and slightly worried by it, but Jason just sighs like it’s completely normal for his eyes to glow in the dark like a cat’s.

“Side effect of the Lazarus Pit,” Jason says, and his voice is much steadier now, even if his face is a mess. “I can see in the dark because of it too.”

“That’s cool but kinda freaky,” Dick responds, being completely honest. “I guess your eyes can be our flashlight for today then,” he says, and it’s a completely valid thing to say, because whenever Jason looks somewhere, his eyes cast an eerie green glow over the space in front of them so they can try and make out a path, but Jason just rolls his eyes.

“I think it’s time to get out of this hellhole,” Jason announces as he pushes himself to his feet, and he sounds completely fine now, like a building didn’t just explode and fall right on top of him, and he wasn’t forced to relive his death and resurrection. But Dick can tell that he’s just putting on a brave face, because he still looks sick and as Dick stands up too, he jerks back like he wants to step away from Dick, but then he remembers himself.

Dick nods in agreement and starts to move, but Jason takes one step and his legs buckle underneath him and he’s almost sent crashing down to the ground but Dick steps in and catches him with an arm around his waist. “Think I fractured my ankle when I fell,” Jason explains begrudgingly when Dick gives him a look, hissing after trying to put weight on it.

“You should’ve told me that _before_ trying to hobble your way out of a burning building,” Dick scolds him as he grabs Jason’s hand and hooks his arm over his shoulder so he can start to lead them out, and he can almost _feel_ Jason’s scowl burning a hole into the side of his face.

Now that his mind isn’t being overtaken with fear and utter panic that Jason is dead, and the fact that he’s got a helping hand too, Dick is able to find a way out of the crushed building relatively quickly with Jason by his side. His head still hurts badly, but nothing can stop him from spotting the tiny little blobs in the distance which turn into their family as they get closer to them.

Damian comes running towards them, cape flying behind him, and he’s clearly relieved going by the way that his shoulders slump when he sees that Dick and Jason are both okay, that they’re both still standing. But then he stops a few metres away from them, eyes glued to a spot to Dick’s upper right.

Tim nearly bumps into his back, steadying himself with a hand on Damian’s shoulder. Surprisingly enough, Damian doesn’t even shrug it off or whirl around and snap at Tim to take it off. And soon enough, Tim’s staring at the same thing as Damian too.

Dick slowly turns to look at whatever they’re both gawking at, and only finds Jason’s arm draped over his shoulder for support, his hand curled into Dick’s. What’s so odd about that — _oh_.

Dick is _holding Jason’s hand._

Jason seems to realise what’s happening at the same time and lets go of Dick’s hand, then stumbles and nearly topples onto the floor before Dick catches him and drags Jason’s arm back around his shoulders, sliding his own arm underneath Jason’s jacket to hold him up. Neither of them notice the way Tim and Damian look at them and then share a glance at each other.

Tim and Damian both carry on walking up to them, and Dick lets out a little _oof_ when he’s attacked by Damian, who wraps his arms around his waist and buries his head in Dick’s chest. Dick carefully passes Jason on to Tim so he can kneel on the floor and hug Damian back tightly, breathing in the scent of his strawberry shampoo to get rid of the smell of fire and burning and smoke.

“Fools,” is all Damian can say as he butts his head into Dick’s shoulder and then pulls back from him, trying to subtly wipe his face. Tim takes his place and steps into Dick’s open arms, and he’s shaking a little as Dick smells little bursts of sour lemon.

Dick presses a kiss into his hair and looks over his shoulder at Jason, who seems so surprised when Damian hugs him too that Dick has to hide his smile in Tim’s hair as Jason tentatively hugs Damian back, instinctively scenting him.

Jason looks up to see Dick staring at the two of them, and Dick really should look away now that he’s been caught, but he can’t seem to, not now that Jason’s flushing a little and looking right back at him, eyes not faltering for even a moment.

And then they’re both being brought into a group hug by strong arms, leaving Dick smiling almost uncontrollably when he sees the flutter of a black cape as his aching body is soothed by the warmth of his family.

Later that night, when he’s lying on a bed in the cave with Alfred fussing over him and almost high on painkillers, he looks over at Jason, who’s miraculously asleep in his own bed after being convinced by Alfred to stay at the manor, dark circles around his eyes.

Dick eyes the distance between their beds and wonders if they’re close enough that he could touch Jason if he stretched his arm out. Dick slowly reaches out and brushes his knuckles over Jason’s limp fingers, freezing when Jason’s hand twitches.

But Jason’s hand eventually relaxes enough that Dick can slip his own hand around it and hold on without the fear of being rejected, since Jason’s knocked out. Dick falls asleep to the feeling of Jason’s hand in his, a faint smile on his face as he remembers Jason leaning into him as Dick had tried to calm him down on patrol. They might not be too close yet, but Dick is making progress, and that’s all that matters.

**Author's Note:**

> if you liked, please feed me with comments and kudos :)


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